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But knowing it was coming doesn’t stop the howl building in my throat.

I tear through the house, bellowing her name. “Rae! Rae!”

I receive no answer. Even if she did call back, I’m not sure I’d hear her over the roar of my blood in my ears.

I take the stairs down three at a time. My knee protests—an old injury, older than Rae herself—but I don’t slow down.

“Rae!”

The kitchen is cold. The tray from yesterday’s breakfast sits on the counter, plates scraped clean but unwashed. There’s no sign of her in here.

She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Would she?

Why wouldn’t she? You’re a monster. A killer. A miserable bastard who slaughtered his wife and has been decaying from the inside ever since.

Fucking hell. I should’ve known: This is what happens when you let someone in.

I storm through the rest of the downstairs. Bathroom—empty. Living room—empty. Study—empty. The panic is starting to consume me.

Think, you bastard. Think!

But I can’t fucking think right now. I just need to find Rae. Once I can put my hands on her again, everything will be fine.

I limp back upstairs as fast as I can, even with my knee screaming in protest. I’ve checked every room on the groundfloor. The brownstone isn’t that big. Where the fuck could she have gone?

I shove open each door on the second-floor corridor. Closet, half-bathroom, closet?—

Then I stop.

This one used to be Kirill’s bedroom.

A race car bed is parked in one corner, buried under a decade and a half of dust. Superman posters are flopping from where they were once tacked to the walls. Sunlight sneaking through the gaps in the blinds has leached the colors from the paint. Action figures stand mid-battle on the dresser, locked in a war that will never end. Above the bed, a mobile of planets hangs motionless. Their universe has stopped turning.

I brace one hand against the door frame as I struggle to breathe.

I haven’t set foot in this room in eighteen years.

The past rushes up like blunt force trauma to the throat. I can hear Elena’s voice, singing Kir to sleep. His small hand reaching for mine.

Papa, stay.

I always, always stayed.

Until I didn’t.

Kir was still wearing the Batman pajamas, cape and mask included, even though he’d turned seven in the summer. Hethrew a fit whenever Elena or I tried to wrangle any of it off of him.

But even Batman couldn’t stop him from trembling in his sleep.

I was in my study, like always, when I heard his voice shatter the stillness of the brownstone.

“Papa, Papa, there’s monsters!”

I dropped my papers and ran through the house. My knee wasn’t so crippled in those days, so I got there quickly. I burst through the door and knelt at his bedside.

He’d been so small back then. A dark-haired scrap of a boy, scrawny as hell, all limbs. Those knobby knees were pulled to his chest when I entered the room. His eyes were damp and huge in the gloom.

As soon as I was close enough, he reached out and I swept him into my arms. His fingers clutched at my shirt with the frantic strength of a child who knew beyond any doubt that his father could fix anything.